


running for a soft place to fall

by alekszova



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Brotherly Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26237311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova
Summary: When Gavin’s pack is attacked, all of the wolves are either missing or dead, and he’s tasked with getting him and Cole to the other side of the country where he knows another pack exists that will take them in and hopefully Hank will be waiting. The only problem is, Cole is a kid, and he isn’t a normal kid either, and that extends far beyond him shifting into a wolf on the full moon, but when his paths cross with Connor, who runs an animal sanctuary in a city packed with Hunters, choices become more than a little difficult to make.convin september challenge!
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	1. there was a garden

_ — DAY ONE _

There was a garden on the south side of camp. Gavin didn’t work there. Of course he didn’t work there. He didn’t know anything about fruits and vegetables. He didn’t understand plant cycles. He didn’t get why some of the people grew flowers in a small little patch and traded them for small things so other people could give them to lovers and friends, who would press the petals against their faces and breathe in like the floral scent could overcome anything out here. Gavin never got one and he never gave one, but it’s the only thing still standing now, and it’s the first thing they stumble across. The small little plot of dirt, most of it burnt to nothing but there is still that patch of flowers. Tulips standing there fiercely, as if protected from the invisible force that swept through the encampment and destroyed the buildings and tents they had spent years and years putting together.

He supposes it should be a blessing that there aren’t any bodies here, but it’s a lie. Even as Cole runs from the woods behind him and comes to a stop at his side, Gavin knows that the bodies missing from the town isn’t a good thing. It means that another pack didn’t come here to kill them, but the soldiers did. With their black tactical gear and their guns and their vans that they shove them inside of, even their dead bodies, taking every last bit of them away to do God knows what.

Hank never told him. Gavin never asked. He didn’t want to know. It was better to not know than to have sleepless nights or dreams filled with all the terrible details. If he didn’t know, he could pretend that they were simply kept prisoners and not tortured and experimented on like such a large part of him believes. It’s hard to ignore the marks on Hank’s arms and the scars littering the body of a few others. It wasn’t just a prison, but he lies to himself because the lie is easier to swallow.

And maybe Gavin should be grateful that it was soldiers. That at least Cole at nine years old doesn’t have to see the dead bodies of friends and family littered throughout the town. That’s the only good thing. There are a thousand bad things in return.

Firstly, he doesn’t know who’s dead and who’s alive, and of those alive, he doesn’t know who escaped from here and who went to the soldiers’ prison. Not that it would matter if he did. He can’t save those that were taken. It was a miracle that Hank got out with a few others all those years ago and most of them died in the process. Even if Gavin found Hank’s body here or knew he was held captive, he made a promise a few months after he showed up here. If anything like this would happen, Gavin would take care of Cole. They all had a back up plan. A camp in Washington that would keep them safe. It’s on the other side of the country, but it’s better than staying put in New York. Most of them were already planning on leaving after spotting the trucks rolling into a city three hours east of here. Humans just think it’s precaution against a war brewing with England, but they all know the difference. They know the difference between soldiers waiting for orders in case an attack happens and those planning to head the assault on some lonely wolves trying their best to hide in a forest.

“Look for anything you can find that will help us,” Gavin says, turning away from Cole.

He has lost any trace of humor he had this morning, moving towards the first building he can find, searching through the remains in the rubble knowing he’ll find nothing but ash. And he does. All that’s in the rubble is the remains of what will never be again and a reminder that it doesn’t matter how far and fast they run, the soldiers will always catch up to them.

  
  


—  _ DAY THREE _

“Where are they?”

“They left.”

“Where did they go, though?”

“To Washington.”

“Without us? Did they forget we were in the woods? Why would they leave us?”

“This was the plan all along. They’d go ahead. We’d follow behind. They’d forge a path. No, they didn’t forget about us. They didn’t leave us. This was the plan all along.”

“But my dad wouldn’t have left me alone.”

“He didn’t leave you alone. You’re here with me.”

“But he would have wanted to travel with me! He wouldn’t have chosen this.”

“He did. Sorry, kid.”

_ Sorry, kid— _

  
  


—  _ DAY THIRTEEN _

It was luck. Entirely luck. That’s what Gavin tells himself. It was luck finding the abandoned house in the woods and it was luck that gave them the secret ladder up to the attic. It was luck that two weeks ago he had his pack on, fully stocked. It was luck that he had enough food to last them until they got far enough away that they could take a break and hunt.

It was luck.

He can’t tell if it’s another lie or not. He has lied to himself so much in his life that the truth has started to blur and bend to fit whatever he wants and lies come so easily to him now that it’s not so difficult when Cole asks questions. It reminds Gavin of his brother, always lying to him, never telling him the truth about anything. But the difference is Elijah never lied to Gavin to help him out. He lied to Gavin to help himself.

And maybe that’s a lie, too.

Because deep down he remembers the screams and the tears and he remembers them being ripped away from each other and that look of remorse and pain on Elijah’s face couldn’t have been faked if he’d really been so selfish, but it’s another thing he has to lie about so on nights like these when he’s exhausted and keeping watch, he keeps his vision clear instead of blurry with tears. It doesn’t stop the pain, though. His heart always feels like a rock inside of his chest, weighing down on his lungs and threatening his ability to breathe.

  
  


—  _ DAY TWENTY-ONE _

They haven’t made much progress. It’s hard to travel with a small child and Gavin finds it hard to be cruel and force him to walk when the snow is just barely melting off the ground. He thinks the scent of smoke is still stuck inside of him and clinging to his clothes, always breathing new life when they start a fire to keep themselves warm.

So they don’t walk far. They barely walk at all. Not even half what Gavin could do if he was by himself. They have to stay clear of cities and towns. Cities especially. Guards wander those streets in sheep's clothing, always looking out for people like Gavin and Cole. The scent of smoke is stuck in Gavin’s lungs but the smell of fur and dirt and wildness is stuck in theirs and the Hunters won’t stop trying to sniff out the source until they find it. If they’re lucky, it will end in death. If they aren’t, they’ll be arrested. Taken away. Maybe they would find their survivors there, but it would only make matters worse. Having someone he knows tortured right beside him, knowing he failed a little boy that just wants to find his father again.

So it’s easier to avoid the confrontation at all so they never have to turn on their heels and run and expose themselves to these guards and Hunters. Especially because Gavin knows they won’t be fast enough on these legs and these feet to outrun a bullet. Maybe they would if they shifted, but that poses all new problems. Dangerous problems.

So they stick to the woods and they make shelter and Gavin creeps through the forest to find rabbits and squirrels to cook for their meals and they pretend that they don’t think about the garden in the south side of town with it’s lettuce and carrots and onions and instead eat their tiny portions of meat and make pouches and gloves out of fur for when a cold spell comes, preparing for a winter’s return that’s still over half a year away, but at the rate they’re going, it might be that long before they reach the halfway point.

It’s fine. They’ll be fine.

  
  


—  _ DAY TWENTY-THREE _

“Look!” Cole yells. “Gavin, look!”

So he does, like he always does in the mornings that they train. Watching one of the bricks that fell off the dilapidated structure they’ve found camp at levitate above the ground. It turns slowly, rising higher and higher.

“Be careful,” Gavin says. “Don’t want anyone to see.”

The brick falls a little lower again, far beyond what Gavin would call the safe-zone, but at least Cole is listening. It’s more than Gavin can say about the day before.

“Are you impressed?” he asks. “I couldn’t lift something this heavy three months ago.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Cole huffs, the brick suddenly dropping to the ground in a loud  _ thump.  _ “You’re such a jerk.”

Maybe he is.

Wouldn’t be anything new.

Cole stomps off into the trees, toward the stream where they wasted yesterday scrubbing out dirt and sweat from their clothes that will just come back in a few days time. Cole will come back, though. Gavin doesn’t feel like chasing after him. He is tired. He has too many thoughts inside of his head. He carves them out one at a time, dragging his knife across the tip of a branch, sharper and sharper, even though it will likely just be left here in this circle of broken down bricks and stone that was once a house.

  
  


—  _ DAY TWENTY-SEVEN _

“Why don’t you talk anymore?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t say anything. Did something happen?”

“No. Nothing happened.”

“Then why don’t you talk? You used to talk all the time. My dad said you never knew how to shut up. Always going on about things that don’t matter anymore. You don’t tell me stories about before.”

“There’s no stories left, Cole.”

“How can that be possible? That doesn’t make any sense—”

“Let it go. And keep walking. Stop fucking around.”

“Yes, sir!”

There’s a small laugh. A tiny little thing. It’s such a strange noise out here in the woods. Such a childish thing to still be able to laugh and be sarcastic, even after the separation, even after the fights.

And this is why Gavin lies.

  
  


—  _ DAY THIRTY-NINE _

There was a garden on the south side of camp. They grew vegetables and fruits and flowers there. Gavin never worked there, but he saw the roses and the tulips and the sunflowers exchanged for scrap pieces and rope and baked goods. He saw the smiles bloom across the faces of people that received them. Get-well soon flowers and anniversary gifts and things celebrating friendships.

Gavin never got one.

But he watched dozens of flowers pass from hand to hand, pressed inside of books and journals or left in vases until they wilted away. He learned how to tend to them just in case someday someone new might show up to the camp and trade a pack of cigarettes for a few Forget-Me-Nots, though no one ever did.

So he took one of his own.

One of the few tulips still standing.

Bright yellow and so cheerful that it almost made him sick amongst all the ash and rubble. But he still took it and he still pressed it between the pages of a journal. He weighed it down with cans of food when they stopped for the night. And now, a month later, he sits by the edge of their tent, scribbling on the empty pages, listing out everything he can think of that Cole might need to know if Gavin dies in this little trip of theirs. Just in case. No lies here, just blatant truth. How to skin animals and cook food and set up traps. What types of berries are okay to eat and how to build shelter in any season. What to sacrifice when a pack becomes too full, though it will likely never happen, and even if it did, the first option would always be to find a way to carry whatever things that would be left behind.

But he thinks of the garden and the tulips and the bright yellow of them glimmering in the light.

And he hopes he never has to hand this book of truth over to Cole at all.


	2. the pretty and the ugly parts

—  **1:07 P.M.**

The little girl seems so happy with her kitten, pressing her face against the top of his head, all of the fur brushing up against her smile.

“I love him,” she says, her smile so bright and wide it looks like it’s going to crack her open. Her mother shares the smile, though hers is much more subdued. She passes the money for the adoption fee across the counter to him, taking the records as they leave.

It’s so strange. How normal this all is. How normal everything remains.

Maybe they can’t see all the ugly parts like Connor can. Guards on the street, guns at their sides, commands ready to be thrown. Maybe they don’t see them, perched along the streets in their regular clothes, hiding their pistols on their belts, waiting.

Just waiting.

  
  


—  **4:10 P.M.**

He always closes up his shop a little late, but today he closes early, flipping the sign around as he steps towards the back of the house, opening up the doors so that the cats can leave the room and roam the entrance of the house. Eight of them rushing around his feet to smell the visitors that have come and gone, the feet of dogs that have stomped around this space that don’t belong here. He used to have nine. Little black cat gone now. His sister looks around the space confused, looking for her long lost brother. Still too small to really be on her own.

“I know,” he whispers.

And he does.

He scoops her up, holding her delicately against his chest like she’s the brother he lost so long ago.

  
  


—  **8:49 P.M.**

Connor leaves the cats and the dogs behind, taking his bag and his jacket as he departs. The dogs press their noses against the glass. One of them howls and whines as though he’s been physically wounded. He hears the cry echo as he moves down the sidewalk towards the car, past the big sign that paints his house as the only one on the street as a business. Not really an animal shelter. Not really a veterinarian office. Somewhere in between. People come by often to just see the cats or pet the dogs. It’s good. He likes them. They can play with the dogs in the backyard, take them on walks when Connor can’t. All he can do is let them roam in the backyard and hope that none of them find the spot where one of them dug a hole underneath the fence.

He has too many. He knows he does. But sometimes a sad kid brings by a puppy their father promised they could get only to be turned away and Connor will always find a spot for them. Sometimes they come back a year later, two years, asking for their dog back, and Connor will always return them.

He doesn’t let things go easily. He knows this much about himself. It’s why he’s in his car, headed down the street away from the bright blue house and the overgrown lawn to the bar in the city. It’s why when he steps out, he holds his breath and ignores the anxiety in his stomach as he steps to the door and pushes his way inside, finding a mirrored version of himself on one of the stools.

“Niles,” he says quietly, not loud enough for him to look back, surely, but he does all the same. Looking towards Connor with a smile that isn’t a smile.

“You’re here.”

He’s always here. He wishes Niles would stop considering it such a wonder. He always comes here. Once a month, like clockwork. The only time his brother is in town. Markus’ bar is his favorite. The thick scent of alcohol washes over the scent of anything else, though Connor knows without a doubt he has interrupted that. Eight cats, five dogs, the scent of animal is stuck on him always. He’s been stopped more than once, asked for his finger, a little prick of the needle against the pad of his thumb.  _ Yes, you’re human. _

Is he?

“How long are you staying?” Connor asks, taking the seat beside him. Markus knows by now not to ask if he wants anything. He only drinks water. Doesn’t like the taste of alcohol. Doesn’t like having his senses altered because it seems like such a wonder. He knows he would get addicted too fast and never have any way to stop himself from indulging, indulging indulging—

“One night. I already have a hotel room. No need to offer up that house of yours.”

“Okay.”

They enter into an uncomfortable silence. Connor holds his glass of water, dragging his finger through the condensation on the side. Not making any particular shape, just trying not to think of how long it will be like this. Connor being left behind. Connor being seen as a boy that tries too hard. He knows he does. He always promises himself he won’t. Sometimes he thinks he won’t even come here on the days when Niles is in town, but then he does. Running back to his brother, the only person he has, who couldn’t care less about him.

Maybe that’s not true, but it’s not as though Niles has ever tried to prove otherwise.

“How was your trip?”

“I didn’t catch any.”

He breathes out a small sigh of relief at the words so quietly spoken they are almost swallowed up whole by the music and the chatter around them. But the relief only lasts a second.

“Did you kill?” Connor asks, his voice thick with this new worry, this new question.

“No.”

“Did you see—”

“No.”

Connor looks up, meets his brother’s gaze. He knows what he’ll say next before he even starts to move his mouth.

“You could’ve come with.”

He shakes his head violently, picks up his glass, swallows half the water before leaving behind a tip and disappearing out the door like he always does. Like those words mean  _ goodbye  _ instead of  _ come along, dear brother.  _

Come along and watch the wolves be shredded into pieces. Help drag their dead bodies to the truck, help trap the young ones, help bind innocent people up and throw them in cages.

_ Come along, dear brother. _

_ Become a patron of death, won’t you? _

  
  


—  **11:32 P.M.**

He’s driving in the opposite direction of home. Out to the woods. Further and further into the night. He is scared of going home right now. He’s scared of being in that house with those cats and those dogs and seeing the ones missing their owners and the kitten missing her brother. He is scared of breaking in front of this little family of pets he’s created, and he can’t shut the door behind him anywhere. The cats are fast, the dogs will attempt to break in. One of them, at the very least, knows how to get any door open. It’s resulted in more shares of fuck ups than he wants to think about.

So Connor drives. Further and further away from the city until he finds the overlook and he climbs out into the cold air, so suffocatingly tight with the smells of the city, of people, of animals in the distance. Of fresh blood and rotting corpses. The bright lights of the city twinkle back at him, showing off the tall buildings and the vast spread of people further and further out. All the pretty and ugly parts on display but nobody can tell which is which.

But Connor can.

He turns towards the woods before he even registers the sound. The snap of twigs, heavy footsteps. A gun. Not going off but being readied and aimed.

Then he hears the bullet, cracking through the air like such a simple thing.

Because even out here when the pretty and the ugly parts are supposed to be so easily distinguishable, there are still ugly parts ready to stain the world with their presence.


	3. the time of the hunter

—  **DAY TWENTY-SEVEN**

It isn’t warm spending nights in the woods. Sometimes it is swelteringly hot, sometimes it is ice cold. They made camp here two days ago, cultivating a fire and putting up a tent that slouches against a large rock and a tree. It isn’t much, but it keeps their belongings safe and it keeps the rain off them when it inevitably starts up again.

Gavin wishes they had more supplies. Not food but simple things that will keep them warm at night. They didn’t need them when they left the night the camp was attacked. No reason for a tarp to lay on or a blanket to curl up inside of. Just a pack with the bare minimum of food that they’ve tried to stretch out for as long as possible.

They aren’t the only ones in the woods in this area. There are campers set up just on the outskirts of the city. If they leave their tents, maybe Gavin can sneak up and steal some of their food. If he really tried, maybe he could find keys to their cars. He knows there’s a parking lot not too far from here. Get in, get away. Give Cole somewhere to sleep that isn’t exposed to the elements, even if it’s not for long.

  
  


—  **DAY TWENTY-EIGHT**

“You have to focus.”

“Shut up.”

Gavin smiles, looking back at the branch in his hand, dragging the knife across the wood to peel back the bark, “If you were focusing you wouldn’t have even heard me say that.”

Cole turns back to him, his face twisted into that child-like rage that can always boil over at the drop of a hat, “I’d like to see you try this! Stop giving me advice like you know what you’re talking about.”

“Cole, I’m the best expert you’ve got,” Gavin replies. “I used to watch a lot of movies about this kind of stuff.”

Cole ignores him this time, going back to what he was doing before. Gavin tries to focus on the branch in his hand, but his movements are slow, his eyes watching the rocks from the ground lift up into the air, levitating where they are for a moment before they start to wobble. Cole can lift up one fine, but he has no precision and he doesn’t listen to Gavin when he says that they should be focusing on that. He doesn’t have any candy to bribe him with anymore and he already gives him the better blanket. Being in the woods, it’s hard to find any positive reinforcement besides forcing words out of his mouth that feel like they’re made of plastic.

But he’s a kid. He deserves it. He deserves the better blanket and the candy and the weathered toys lost on camping trips. His dad is already missing. Gavin gives him everything without even waiting for teaching moments, because Cole is right. He doesn’t know anything about this. He can offer ideas and directions, but it’s not as though Cole will listen to him.

The three rocks floating around him fall, only one remaining as it moves it’s way to the tree stump across the camp where it rests easily against the surface. Cole tries again. Picking up three rocks, only managing the one a few moments later. Each rock that gets added to the stack makes it lean farther and farther to the left and by the time it’s four high, it falls and collapses against the dirt.

“This is too hard,” Cole says, kicking at the dirt. “And stupid.”

“Count yourself lucky you don’t have to learn algebra.”

“Algebra?” he asks, looking to Gavin. “What is that?”

“Hell.”

Cole scoffs, moving to the stump and pushing the two rocks that remain aside so he can take a seat. “I’m hungry. I can’t focus when I’m hungry.”

He’ll learn to. Eventually that will be his only motivation for anything at all.

But he’s right. He needs food.

  
  


—  **DAY TWENTY-NINE**

He leaves Cole by himself at camp after he falls asleep, his bow in hand as he makes his way through the trees. When he first joined the pack, they taught him how to craft a weapon out of anything. Wooden stakes and spears, arrows and bows. Things they would need to protect themselves from hunters. Not that it ever mattered in the end. No amount of weaponry they have can ever truly combat with guns and tactical gear. The best chance they ever have at survival is to keep moving, never group up.

It’s just difficult.

Making the decision to be alone doesn’t come easy. Even for Gavin. He hates being around other people. He hated it when Hank asked him to help Cole last month with his first night of shifting. He hates that he agreed. Making the trek up to the forest, far far away from the camp, saved their lives. But at what cost? Cole’s missing his dad now. Gavin is missing the only people he has tentatively called his family and his home since he lost his brother.

He pauses halfway to the camp, his feet freezing him in place as he listens to the sound of movement in the trees. Gavin looks to the noise to his left, finding the shadowy figure moving between the trees. Not a human. A deer. Young. Not a baby, but not full-grown.

If he goes to that camp and gets the keys, him and Cole can make progress with their trip for once. They can get so much closer so much faster. They can make up for lost time. Or he can shoot the deer. He won’t have to sneak into the camp, he won’t have to watch their movements. He won’t have to hope and pray that they’ve drank enough to pass out. He won’t have to find where they keep the keys. He won’t have to steal food.

Gavin takes a cautious step towards the doe. So much different killing a deer himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s eaten deer or even helped prepare it, but he’s always been more comfortable setting snares for rabbits and squirrels. 

It’s funny how much more this bothers him now than it does when he wakes up in the mornings after full moons with blood on his mouth and his hands, knowing he ripped out the throat of a deer or a raccoon.

He holds the bow up, drawing an arrow from his pack. He draws it back slowly, steadying his aim as best as he can before he lets the arrow loose, letting it fly through the air silently, straight for the deer.

But it doesn’t fly straight. It swerves wildly to the left, disappearing into the dark, and the sound that it makes on impact isn’t against a tree or bushes or falling eventually to the forest floor. It is a quiet sound, followed by a pained noise elicited from a human, the smell of blood hitting the air immediately as the deer runs off.

Gavin turns quickly, looking back through the trees, knowing that Cole is there somewhere. He can hear someone scream. A name broken through the air as someone else yells  _ fuck fuck fuck  _ and another calls for somebody to get their phone and get help.

He ignores them, instead finding Cole standing a few feet away, hidden behind a tree but frozen completely still, his mouth open as he stumbles past his words a few times before Gavin cuts him off, abandoning the bow to the ground and grabbing Cole quickly, picking him up in a swift movement as he races back to their camp. They need to get out of here. They need to fucking run before help arrives for those campers and they find them in the woods.

  
  


“I didn’t mean to,” Cole whispers.

Gavin is barely looking at him. He is too focused on packing their things up. They won’t be able to get far, but they’ll at least get away from here tonight.

“I know,” he says, rolling up the sleeping bag quickly, tying it in place. “It was an accident.”

“You were going to kill that deer, though.”

“Cole—”

“It was just… it was just minding its own business. It was just in the woods. It didn’t even look that old.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

No. It isn’t. That man is probably dead. Probably up in the night, taking a leak or something. Probably saw the deer and thought he was communing with nature or some shit. Wrong place wrong time.

But Gavin is not going to sit here and lecture Cole about the fact a deer is just an animal and animals are food. Not when things have gone so horribly wrong. It would be one thing if the arrow just hit a tree and they scared it off. It’s an entirely different thing when he can still hear the people in the distance screaming for help.

  
  


—  **DAY THIRTY**

“You have to eat, Cole.”

He doesn’t look up from the ground, doesn’t make eye contact with Gavin at all. He hasn’t spoken since they moved camp. He didn’t even sleep. Neither did Gavin. He was scared Cole was going to run away.

This morning they skirted by the edge of a small town. Gavin chanced going into the shop with the little money he had to buy Cole some food and he swiped him some candy, too, but not even a chocolate bar is going to make up for what happened the night before.

It’s not like this is the first time Gavin has killed a human. He’s killed five different people and each one was to protect him or his family. This is just the first for Cole. Probably the first of many. Even that fact makes his mouth taste like acid and his heart feel like ice.

“You need your strength for tonight.”

Cole shakes his head. Gaze on the fire. Burning steadily away. Gavin leaves food beside him, walking out of the camp towards the trees. Not far enough that he can’t keep an eye on him, but far enough that he can be by himself, sinking down by the base of a tree, looking up at the sky.

It’s not fair.

It’s never fair.

They get what they want and what they need but they can barely touch it. The  _ how  _ infects the thing and leaves it unwanted. They’ll still take it. Take it and eat from it when they’re desperate and broken and too driven on the need to survive to remember the screams and the blood in the road.

  
  


“Stay close to me, okay?” Gavin says, untying the laces of his boots.

“I know.”

“If anything happens, you run back here, got it?”

“I know.”

He pauses, hands stilling in their work on the too-tight knot of his other shoe. “Just be careful. Please.”

“I know.”

  
  


It feels like poison. The taste of metal in his mouth first, the itching at his gums. The overwhelming heat in his stomach that never at any point feels comforting. The bending of bones, the way they shatter and mend in an instant. Any feeling he had before replaced by the immediate feeling of wanting to run and destroy. Thoughts lost in nothingness.

It is like a drug, in a way.

Forgetting who he is. Racing through the trees instead, baring his teeth at possums and porcupines. His claws lashing out at trees and bushes. It’s different with Cole here, though. Less like the feeling of freedom than it used to be. He follows him through the woods, racing after the small wolf like they’re playing a game.

For Cole, maybe it is. For Gavin, it’s just not losing the only thing he has left.

So they run, splashing through a river, up and down hills. He loses Cole at one point and he looks around furiously, trampling through bushes trying to find him. When he does, Cole bounds out of a bush so suddenly that Gavin jumps back in surprise. He can almost hear the small laugh. The thing he lost last night back again and Gavin is so grateful he forgot that Cole has lost even more of himself in this transition than Gavin has. Still so young and new at this, only the second time he’s shifted, that not even a fraction of his real self will carry over. It will take years before he’ll remember his own name in the night.

They walk side by side through the woods, Gavin trying to lead Cole as best he can back the way they came, the sliver of him trying to keep them close to their supplies. He pauses by the river, one paw in the water, the other poised to take the next step. The water gurgles loudly over the rocks, but he still hears it.

Metal. Leather. Plastic. Breathing.

A bullet pulled from a pocket. A bullet sliding into a rifle. The movement of a gun being aimed. The slow intake of breath, held for a moment—

_ Hunters. _


	4. the sun, the moon, and all the stars

—  **11:48 P.M.**

He runs. Connor doesn’t know why he’s running. He should’ve got in his car and drove away. Whoever fired that gun could turn on him, but he heard the howl of the wolves. Annoyed and angry with the first shot, but the second one—

Wounded. 

Maybe it’s that pull. That animalistic thing in the air seeping inside of him and making his feet move on their own. He’s heard of tamers having this issue. Needing it beaten out of them. The desire to be an ally, to help and not to hurt, to hunt. He watched for years as that thing was ripped away from his brother.

But he still has it. Somewhere hidden deep inside of him. Making him run out into the woods, branches hitting his face, tripping over roots. He knows his hands are getting cut up from the slim branches and thorny bushes, he can feel the air sting the cut on his cheek.

The smell of blood is so thick this way he almost gags on it. Metal in the air that makes his own blood feel like it’s turning to ice.

He stumbles to a stop when he sees movement. A small wolf crouched by a bush, barring their teeth at him. Connor brings his hands up slowly, wondering if the blood on his palms will make him like a fish in the water, the wolf a shark ready to destroy.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m here to help you.”

The wolf doesn’t move. Same angry expression.

“I’m not with whoever shot at you,” he says. “I promise. I just—I want to help. I can help. I’m a doctor. Please. I won’t turn you in.”

The wolf stops growling, turns quickly and bounds out into the woods. Connor follows, realizing he has nothing on him but his phone and his keys. He tugs on his tie—a gift from his mother, printed black with pink flamingos on it—and moves towards the trees. The little wolf leads him around toward a stream, the water bubbling over rocks beside him. He ducks under a branch, heading towards the flat space covered in large rocks and downed trees. 

He slows his steps as he spots feet poking out from a dirt path shrouded in bushes, blood pooling downward and washed away with the water. He takes a glance towards the body, finding the face of a guard he recognizes from the city. Perkins. Always a jerk, always coming by the house and telling Connor he needs to keep a leash on his dogs as if they’re the wolves he hunts. Niles has gone on runs with him. Out into the woods, watching each other’s backs.

Not tonight.

Tonight Perkins was alone and there’s no way he’s alive right now. Not with the claw marks that shred his face, not with the amount of blood on the ground and soaking his clothes. No. Perkins is dead. Connor feels a strange pang of grief towards this awful man but he moves on, counting himself lucky and grateful that Niles wouldn’t make the mistake of coming out during a full moon to hunt wolves.

The pup looks so much smaller and more innocent now next to the larger wolf. Fully grown and bleeding out from a leg wound. Connor keeps his hands up, saying whatever he can to ease either of the wolves’ concern as he kneels down beside him.

He places a hand on the wolf’s side, “This might hurt a little bit, but I promise it’s going to help. There’s only so much I can do without taking you for help.”

The wolf looks at him, angry gaze, but no growl. An understanding, but not exactly trusting either. Not like Connor would be if their situations were reversed. The general public doesn’t know about the wolves, but tamers do. Hunters do. And neither of them can be trusted by wolves. Connor knows that from the bare minimum of what Niles told him about his lessons.

He pulls the tie from his neck, wrapping it around the wolf’s leg. It’s not going to be enough. It needs to be cleaned, stitched up. He has a kit in his car for stray animals. It happens. More often than Connor likes. He sees a cat on the side of the road that was hit but still alive. They don’t always make it but Connor is always there, trying.

“I’m going to help you,” he whispers. “I promise.”

  
  


—  **2:07 A.M.**

He scrubs his hands for the third time that night, though he only found a few spots of blood on his wrists after he took the gloves off. Getting the wolf here wasn’t easy. Neither of them. The pup kept growling at him as he pulled the bigger one towards the car and it took almost begging the pup to climb into the backseat with him.

It was another thing entirely to get the two into his house. The cats took off into hiding and the dogs stayed by the walls, looking on warily. But it’s fine. It worked out. Everything is okay. Connor repaired the damage, which was a lucky hit, not shattering any bones, though he’s unsure to what extent that would really harm a wolf. The wolf is in a bedroom on the first floor and the pup is staying by his side. He doesn’t know what will happen when they turn back. He should stick close. Stay up until the sun rises at least to make sure the bandages get adjusted the way they need to.

He’s so tired, though. The smell of blood filling his lungs, the look of matted fur drenched in red. Bullets and bone and death. He sets an alarm on his phone, moving towards the back room with the cats, finding a place on the sofa where a few of the cats come near him, sniffing at his hands and moving away. None but the kitten with the lost brother climbs up to sit on his chest, curling up in a tiny ball and going to sleep fast. Connor follows shortly after, a surprising fall into sleep that happens so suddenly, so easily, despite what the last few hours have been like.

But his eyes fly open what feels like a second later, his heart racing as he sits up. The cat is gone from his side. His phone is beeping angrily at him.

And from down the hall—

A scream.

  
  


—  **DAY THIRTY-ONE**

He doesn’t know how the fuck he got here, but his fingers are clawing at the bandages around his leg. Too tight. They’re cutting off his circulation, but not in a way to subdue bleeding, more like trying to kill his nerves and make him lose his leg. He can feel the stitches stretch taut and loose at the same time, something happening to them in the time it took from him to shift from wolf to human again. The door opens as he finally claws through the last thing holding it on, the stitches holding his skin together have ripped open and fresh blood pools in its place.

“S-Stop!” a voice says, coming forward. “Please, you’re going to hurt yourself—”

He doesn’t care. The bandage is off now, and whether he’s added a new wound or made the old one worse, it doesn’t matter.

“Who the fuck are you?” he says, looking up to him. “Where am I? Why am I here? What the fuck happened?”

“Connor. Detroit. You were hurt. Shot by a hunter.”

He looks up to meet his face. This stranger looking back at him, so clean, so young, so perfectly pristine in this little house that smells like cat and dog and trained animals not allowed to have any kind of real freedom. He looks around the room, searching for Cole and finding nothing but an empty bed beside him.  _ Cole.  _ He vaguely recalls that from last night, when everything was blurry with red and black. Coming here, being dragged across the floor. He remembers falling asleep as Cole curled up into a small ball beside him. Now he’s gone and all there is is this stupid fucking guy in the doorway yelling at him. But when the stranger— _ Connor— _ steps forward, he realizes he’s not as young as Gavin thought he was. Maybe a few years shy of his own age, but not the baby faced boy he thought he was in the shadows. Just…

Not aged by the running from hunters for two decades.

“Where is Cole?” Gavin asks, moving away from the bed. He won’t be able to walk on this leg but he’s going to fucking try. If finding Cole kills him, then so be it.

“The pup?” he asks. “I don’t know. Just sit down, please. I’ll look for him.”

Gavin’s jaw clenches tight, his hands clinging to the blanket as Connor moves past him, pushing aside dark curtains to look in the yard. The sudden sunlight catches on everything in the room, flooding it to life beyond the early morning darkness, beyond his panicked awakening. Deep oak wooden furniture, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. A moon on the wall shaped from wires with pictures clipped to it that he can’t see from here.

It looks like a teenager’s room.

“He’s outside,” Connor says, turning away. “He’s playing with the other dogs.”

“Other dogs,” Gavin says quietly. “We’re not pets.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“It’s what you think though, isn’t it?” he says. “Treating us like lesser-beings. What are you getting out of this? Keeping me alive so you can sell me off to the hunters for a fortune?”

“No,” Connor says. “I wanted to help you, and if you let me, I’ll fix your wound back up again.”

“Why? If you know what we are, why help?”

He shrugs, like this is such a ridiculous, unimportant question to ask. Like there aren't very real consequences to people like him betraying people like Gavin.

“Everyone deserves help,” Connor says quietly. “Everyone’s life has value.”

“Even animals?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Gavin huffs out a laugh, “Vegetarian, then?”

“Vegan.”

“Wow. Got your whole holier-than-thou complex going, huh?”

Connor shakes his head, “You really do need that stitched up. You lost a lot of blood last night and I don’t want you to lose anymore. I don’t have a way of getting you a transfusion.”

Gavin nods slowly, his hands moving away from the wound. He lets Connor pull up a chair by the bed, getting to work slowly. It isn’t until Connor’s hands are on him that he realizes he’s been naked the whole time. It wasn’t an issue before, back in the camp. All of the wolves were used to it, but they were also good at preparing in advance. They take packs into the woods full of an extra set of clothes and food. Flashlights. Water. Everything they need.

And it’s different than when he’s out in the woods with Chris anyway. Connor is a stranger. Whether this is medical or not…

He pulls the sheet over himself, slowly, hoping he isn’t drawing attention to himself. But even if Connor sees his self-conscious behavior, he doesn’t comment on it. He just carries on. Cleaning the wound. Stitching it closed. Wrapping gauze around it. When he’s done, he hands Gavin some clothes. Shorts and a worn t-shirt, neither of which look like they belong in Connor’s wardrobe.

“You’ll need to keep off this leg,” Connor says quietly. “I can make crutches for you, maybe, but I suggest not walking at all.”

“Keeping me prisoner?”

“I’m not trying to. You can leave if you like, but you might undo your stitches again and nobody will be there to help.”

“Oh, guilt tripping then?”

Connor sighs, sitting back, “Again. You can go. I’m just giving you medical advice.”

“As a vet. I’m in a human form now, right? So what does it really amount to?”

“Nothing, I guess. Sorry.”

“Sorry,” he echoes. He hasn’t heard the word in a while. Wolves don’t apologize. At least not the ones he was with. “Can you get Cole for me? I don’t want him to be alone out here.”

“Of course,” Connor says, standing slowly. He hesitates by the door. “Can I ask you something?”

“I guess.”

“What’s your name?”

He laughs, realizing he hadn’t introduced himself at all. First thing Connor did when he walked in the room was demand his name. All Connor knows him as is the grumpy wolf bleeding out on his bed. “Gavin.”

“Gavin. Okay. Get some rest. Take it easy. You’re safe here.”

He wonders if Connor realizes what a fucking lie that is. He’s not safe anywhere, least of all here, in the middle of a city with too many people and too many hunters. He isn’t safe out in the woods, he isn’t safe with wolves, he isn’t safe anywhere. But he lets himself relax just a little bit, lets the breath he’s holding exhale. He’ll try. Just for a little bit. Just until he’s better and he can properly protect Cole and they can find the rest of their pack.

“Thanks, boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> these are shorter chapters for me, but i'll be updating more often!! >.<


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